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My heart is like any other,

a strong and persistent muscle,

doing its job,

keeping the hot red stuff of life in motion.

Mine is not among the strongest,

but neither is it frail,

it’s a serviceable model.

My love is steadfast and long lasting.

My heart is not like a valentine,

there are no ruffles or lace,

it would not be served as candy.

It’s a dark and meaty thing,

simmered slow - strong flavored,

woody and tough.

My heart is not open.

I am careful of who sees in

even though every living being holds the key.

My heart understands that there are no locked doors.

The stuff of life is liquid and must flow,

it may be a trickle or a flood

but it is moving.

Here’s a contradiction-

yes, the heart’s work,

pumping blood, sustains life,

but only if that blood stays contained,

isolated in one unique body,

one mote of the universal manifestation

of life, of love.

Movement and connection,

sustained by separation and solitude.

About the Author

Erinn Ervin is a previously unpublished writer. She is a self-employed carpenter and retired math teacher. She lives in a big house with a small dog, and imagines a world economy based on compassion and respect for life rather than profit and greed.

1 Comment

Aug 09, 2022


I ❤️ this poem! Congratulations on publishing it for our enjoyment 👍


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